


Habit Forming

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-10
Updated: 2005-07-10
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A different way Brian and Justin meet.  Totally AU.  Totally.  Feedback is nice.I tried to fix all the wacky symbols and stuff.  If it didn't work, then I'm determined that this site hates me.





	Habit Forming

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

I wrote this for Alantie and my LJ readers who are waiting so patiently for me to finish up my new story. I've been having a lot of trouble posting on this site. I hope this works out. Oh! This story is kind of based on a situation I encountered in real life. Stupid Sam's Club. And! some of this bantering is me and Alantie in actual conversation. Enjoy. **So, I'm *still* having trouble on this site. Which is why I don't really post here anymore. It's gotten so complicated. I have to open like three different browsers and change my font twice and then cut and paste a few times and... Waaah. I'm so close to just giving up...**

* * *

Justin first meets Brian in the tobacco counter line at Sam’s Club. The wait is excruciatingly long and Justin swears that every single smoker in the state of Pennsylvania has decided to come to that exact Sam’s Club to buy their multiple cartons of cigarettes. If Justin isn’t so addicted to that burning sensation caused by smoking--the one that travels from the roof of his mouth, down his throat, and into the very depths of his lungs, warming and filling them--he wouldn’t even be at this circus of a super-super-super store. 

 

He grumbles to himself as he watches children--bratty, oily, sticky children--run up and down the candy aisle, screeching about Jolly Ranchers and Nerd Ropes and Bazooka Bubble Gum. He’s being continually whacked by the kid-much-too-old-to-be-in-a-stroller behind him with a gigantic Pixie Stick. And every time he’s hit, the kid squeals, “Pixie WHIP!” His mother giggles and coos as if he’s the cutest fucking thing on earth.

 

The line hasn’t moved in the past ten minutes and if Justin didn’t already commit almost an hour of his time in line, he’d just go buy a pack of cigarettes at the corner market. But, if there’s one thing Justin isn’t, it’s a quitter. And he’s determined to get his cheaper cartons _no matter what_. 

 

There’s a rumor spreading fast down the line. About the power and the credit card machines and something about typing everything in manually. Justin tightens his fists, looks up at the cement ceiling, and prays for sanity. 

 

The cooing mother with the annoying child notices Justin only after a few minutes, but it takes almost an hour for her to work up the nerve to talk to him. 

 

“Long line,” she smiles at him, her teeth a light yellow.

 

Justin wills his eyes not to roll into the back of his head when he recognizes her pathetic attempt at flirtation. “Yep.” After years of one night stands, he’s learned obvious signs of disinterest without being overtly mean. Keeping his answers short is just one of those signs.

 

Her smile widens and he suppresses a groan. Obviously, his one word answer is attention enough for her, because she’s soon leaning into him, talking about sports and beer and whatever else breeder women believe breeder men take an interest in.

 

There’s more to life than football and Budweiser, Justin wants to tell her, but bites his tongue. The line has moved about an inch and he finds himself grinning.

 

“You have a great smile,” Candy, he learns her name, giggles, blushing. He thinks there’s something wrong with him when he notes her blush and decides that it’s sweet.

 

The tall-man-in-front-of-him-who-blocks-his-view-but-has-a-nice-ass-even-if-it-is-a-little-flat heaves a sigh and mutters, “Jesus H. Christ,” before spinning around on his heels and glaring at Candy, completely ignoring Justin. “Look lady, if you want him to fuck you, just ask. Although I doubt you’d get very far seeing as this Sam’s Club is right off of Liberty Avenue and half the men in here are fags.”

 

Candy gasps. Justin doesn’t know if it’s because of the language the tall-man-in-front-of-him-who-blocks-his-view-but-has-a-nice-ass-even-if-it-is-a-little-flat-and-happens-to-be-the-hottest-man-Justin’s-ever-seen uses that shocks Candy, but Justin can give one good reason why his own jaw is sweeping the floor in amazement. The guy has enough gall to out him to half the store. That fucker. But, hey, Justin can’t really complain because Candy shuts up and doesn’t flirt with him anymore. 

 

A few minutes later, though, as the line slowly creeps forward, Justin’s lonely and finds himself missing his benign chatter with Candy. He turns to say something to her, but she looks away quickly, pretending to be enthralled with the white neon sign that reads “Pharmacy” on the opposite wall. Stupid, homophobic bitch. Keeping his foot in line, he steps around the man-with-the-hot-but-flat-ass-and-gorgeous-hazel-eyes. “Hi,” he grins at the man.

 

The man grunts his response.

 

“You buying cigarettes?”

 

Justin can see the man take in a deep breath, probably to avoid throttling him. He respects the man for not losing his temper. 

 

“Long wait, huh?”

 

“What are you, stupid?” The man asks, causing Justin to frown.

 

“Well, sorry. I just thought--”

 

“You thought wrong.”

 

Justin huffs and returns to his place in line. Jerk.

 

Sure, he can use one word answers on women, but men aren’t supposed to ignore him. At least not men he finds attractive.

 

Justin decides he likes the man silent. He’s up for a challenge.

 

He takes in the tall body, lean frame, and--he laughs softly at the ridiculous phrase--endlessly long legs.

 

“Staring is rude, you know?” The man grumbles without turning around, which Justin’s grateful for. The blush creeping to the tips of his ears is anything but attractive.

 

“I wasn’t staring. I was admiring,” Justin comments, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He thinks maybe the man-who-could-turn-out-to-be-the-love-of-his-life is smiling because the edges of his cheeks puff out a bit, but he isn’t sure.

 

The line moves another foot. It appears as though the cashier can now work the stupid carbon-copy credit card machine. Justin thinks briefly of technology and how we, as a society, are too reliant upon it. And then his mind wanders to his brand new computer and he decides he likes technology and wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world, even if it does break down on occasion.

 

Justin twirls around the man again and eyes him carefully. The man attempts to ignore him and that secretly thrills Justin. “What’s a guy like you doing at a place like this?”

 

And the man throws back his head and this laugh, a laugh more beautiful and open than Justin has ever heard in his entire life, pours out of him. 

 

“What?”

 

“That’s got to be the lamest pick up line. Ever.” The man wipes his eyes and Justin gets the feeling that he doesn’t laugh as often as he should. 

 

Justin furrows his brows. “Who says that was a pick up line? I was just curious. After all, people who wear... what is that? Armani? DKNY? People who wear designer labels don’t shop at Sam’s Club.”

 

“They do if they smoke.”

 

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

 

The man sticks his tongue into his cheek and smirks. Justin’s heart stops for a moment and then begins to work in overdrive. “Thanks for the public service announcement, mom.”

 

“Dad.”

 

“What?”

 

Justin shrugs his shoulders. “Seeing as I’m male...”

 

The man rolls his eyes and reaches around to push Justin back in line. “I’m already annoyed as is. You don’t have to add to the experience.”

 

Justin fills the long wait by bantering and flirting shamelessly with the man-who-most-definitely-is-the-love-of-his-life-because-he’s-hot-smart-and-witty. When the man finally steps to the counter and asks for his carton of Marlboro Lights, Justin’s smile erases from his face and he’s left with a sense of finality. 

 

Love is short lived.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the cashier says, “We no longer accept Visas. We take Mastercard, debit cards, American Express, and Discover, but not Visa.”

 

“But,” The man-who-Justin-decides-he-will-never-let-go-of frowns, his voice tightening. “But, I only brought my Visa.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t take Visas anymore.”

 

“But, what the fuck do you mean? _Visa: it's everywhere you want to be!_ ” The man’s voice raises.

 

“Except Sam’s Club,” Justin smirks, leaning against the counter next to the man-who-looks-like-he’s-about-to-cry. 

 

The man glares at Justin, momentarily, then turns back to the timid cashier. “Fuck. Fine.” He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out his checkbook. “I’ll write a check. You do take checks, right?” And his voice reeks of sarcasm.

 

The woman nods and then says, “As long as you have your ID, everything will be fine.”

 

The man’s hand hovers above the check. “What the fuck do I need an ID for if I have a membership card?”

 

Justin sighs. “Here,” he puts down his Discover card and nods to the cashier. He turns to the man and says, “Write _me_ a check instead. Justin Taylor.”

 

“Excuse me?” Justin decides he’s adorable when he’s confused.

 

“That’s my name.” He leans over the man and points to the checkbook. When the man doesn’t move to fill it in, he sighs. “Name, here. Date, here. Amount, here.”

 

The man growls and rips his checkbook away from Justin’s fingers. “I know how to fill out a check, asshole.”

 

Justin turns to the cashier, who looks hopelessly scared, and says, “Carton of Camel Turkish Gold 100s, please.”

 

“Camels?” The man asks gruffly, a small smirk playing his lips as he signs his name to the check.

 

“Well, yeah. Turkish Golds are so smooth.”

 

The man looks Justin in the eyes and grins. “Camels are for white trash and teenage goth girls.”

 

“Marlboro are for dirty old men and breeder jocks.”

 

The man tears out his check and stuffs it in the back pocket of Justin’s jeans, walking away while Justin signs the receipt. Justin stands, watching the sexiest-man-on-earth leave before pulling out the check and glancing at it. Brian A. Kinney.

 

Brian.

 

Brian Kinney. 

 

Well, shit. Brian’s like the Eighth Wonder of the Queer World. The reputable sex machine. 

 

Score.

 

Then his eyes settle on the amount and he can’t remember the last time he runs so fast. He races out of the front doors and catches up with Brian, who’s leaning against a black jeep outside, lighting a cigarette.

 

“Hey!” Justin calls out, racing to him, his breath quick. He places his hands on his knees and takes a few deep breaths.

 

“Yeah?” Brian asks, watching in amusement as Justin tries to even out his breathing.

 

Justin waves the check in the air. “You gave me too much.”

 

“For yours too, Sunshine.”

 

“Sunshine?”

 

Brian grins this truly nasty grin. “Yeah, ‘cause you’ve got such a great smile.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm and Justin flushes in embarrassment. He can’t help it that straight women want to carry his children. No matter how gay he thinks he is, women just don’t have a clue.

 

“Fuck you,” Justin bites, turning on his heels to walk away.

 

Brian grabs his arm. “Hey, don’t leave. Have a smoke with a dirty old man.”

 

“Dirty old man?”

 

“Well, yeah. I mean, I smoke Marlboros and since I’m obviously not a breeder jock... You didn’t leave me much choice in how I refer to myself.”

 

Justin tries to figure Brian out. He keeps contradicting himself. One minute, he’s infallibly rude, the next, he’s so sweet Justin thinks he might die from the attention. “Your name would work, too.”

 

“Aw, but what’s the fun in being all conventional?”

 

Justin snorts, opening his carton and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “You’re anything but conventional.”

 

They both lean against the hood of Brian’s jeep, smoking in silence. Justin studies Brian out of the corner of his eyes. His features are so prominent, it’s like they’ve been chiseled. He remembers an old art instructor he had and thinks about how the woman was always looking for “perfect bone structure.” Justin decides that Brian would be the woman’s walking wet dream.

 

Hell, he’s _his_ walking wet dream. 

 

Justin shoots a long string of smoke rings, grinning at his talent. 

 

“Are you trying to impress me, Sunshine?” Brian’s voice breaks their comfortable silence.

 

“Is it working?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Justin pouts and Brian can’t suppress the small laugh that escapes his lips. 

 

“What about if I try to seduce you instead?”

 

Shrugging, Brian replies, “That might work.”

 

He feels Justin’s eyes on him and when he turns to the smaller man, he finds Justin smiling mysteriously, his eyes darkening. There’s something intense about the look Justin’s giving him.

 

“What’re you doing?” Brian asks, clearing his throat to cover his sudden nervousness.

 

“Seducing you.”

 

“It’s gonna take more than a smile.”

 

Justin narrows his eyes and bites his lips. After a few moments of thinking, Justin licks the corners of his mouth and gently sucks on his cigarette. He moans as he inhales, rolling his eyes into the back of his head and rocking on his feet. When he exhales, he lets out a soft, but audible breath. Brian stands in rapt attention.

 

“How’s that?”

 

Brian shifts feet and answers, “Better.” He combs a hand through his shaggy but perfect hair and then blatantly adjusts the crotch of his pants. 

 

“God. You really _are_ easy.”

 

Flicking his cigarette into the street, Brian turns to him and asks, “What do you mean by that?’

 

“Your... sexual activities are known far and wide, Mr. Kinney.”

 

“How d’you know my name?” Brian asks, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

 

Justin stares at him blankly and then pulls out the check. “It says so, right here. Brian A. Kinney. Ooooh, it has all your information. I could totally stalk you.”

 

“Yeah. But, you wouldn’t.”

 

Flattening out the check before placing it in his wallet, Justin asks quietly, “Oh? And why’s that?”

 

“You wouldn’t have the guts to.” Brian isn’t lying. He doubts Justin would ever stalk him, although he’s not sure if would actually mind or not. The guy’s hot. And funny. 

 

“You shouldn’t make assumptions.”

 

“Who’s making assumptions?” Brian asks, his face encasing a feral grin he usually saves for tricking. “Maybe I’m challenging you.”

 

Justin bites back a smile, but Brian can see his eyes glowing. It’s refreshing, this almost normal flirtation.

 

“Like I don’t have anything better to do than follow around a dirty old man.”

 

Brian raises one eyebrow and Justin envies the action. He’s always wanted to be able to do that, but he usually ends up squinting one eye and raising both brows. Most people ask him if his allergies are acting up when he does it, so he’s stopped trying. While Justin stands there, admiring Brian’s control over his facial muscles, Brian turns around and begins to walk away. Justin doesn’t pause when he runs after him.

 

“Where are you going?” He asks, jogging to keep up with Brian. “I thought that was your jeep.”

 

“It is. And I thought you had something better to do than follow around a dirty old man.?”

 

Justin smiles, studying Brian intently. “Are you admitting to being a dirty old man? I mean, I guess you are pretty old...”

 

Brian stops in the middle of the Sam’s Club parking lot. “Fuck you. I’m only twenty-nine.”

 

Justin’s honestly shocked. “That’s it?!”

 

“You think I look older than twenty-nine?” Brian damn near pouts. “God, I’m gonna go slit my wrists. Nice knowin’ya, Sunshine.” 

 

“No,” Justin releases an addictive laugh. “I just assumed you were older than you look. After all, you have _quite_ the reputation; I’ve been hearing about you for years. I never thought you’d be younger than me.”

 

Brian’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he starts to grin. “And how old are you?”

 

Justin looks away, nervously patting his hair down. “Thirty-twoish.”

 

“Ish?”

 

Sighing, Justin sucks his bottom lip in. “I’ll be thirty-three next month.”

 

“I guess calling _me_ the old man is not quite accurate.”

 

“But the dirty part is.”

 

“But the old man part isn’t.”

 

“I hate you.” It’s Justin’s turn to pout and Brian notices that he does it spectacularly well.

 

“Shut up. No, you don’t.” He reaches out and touches Justin’s smooth, blond hair. The sun makes it sparkle a multitude of golds and Brian enjoys the way the warmth from the sun, heating up Justin’s hair, burns his fingertips. “You soooo love me.”

 

Justin swallows. “Not yet. But, I probably could.”

 

There’s an awkward moment of silence. Brian lets his hand drop to his side again and he walks back to his jeep.

 

“You shouldn’t,” he tells Justin, taking out his keys. 

 

“Are you challenging me again?” Justin asks, confusion highlighting his deep voice.

 

“Nah. I’m warning you.” Brian whispers, unlocking his jeep door and sliding in. 

 

He doesn’t start the jeep. 

 

Justin grins. “You know,” he begins, leaning against the open door, “I’ve always been one to ignore warning labels.” He holds up his cigarettes. 

 

“You shouldn’t. They’re there for a reason.”

 

“So are cooking instructions, but I always seem to burn my food anyway. I figure, who the fuck cares? I do things my own way. ‘Sworked so far.”

 

Brian blindly slides his key into the ignition. “A man of determination,” he mutters.

 

“You like that?”

 

Slowly, he turns his head toward Justin. The sun’s rays outline the man’s pale body in a magnificent glow. “Occasionally.”

 

Justin tilts his head, reading the multitude of passages in Brian’s expressive eyes. “Well, you should never jump in. You should learn to float first, right?”

 

“The fuck?” Brian asks, laughing at Justin’s misconstrued analogy. 

 

Shrugging, Justin shakes out another cigarette from the decorative pack. “Cut me some slack. I’m trying to get laid here.”

 

“Is that it?’

 

“Mmm,” Justin murmurs, inhaling the gray smoke. “Maybe. If you do a good job, I’ll buy you dinner.”

 

Brian’s grows jealous of Justin’s nicotine fix and pulls out his own cigarettes. Justin’s lighter is in his face before he has a chance to place one to his lips. He wraps his hands carefully around Justin's, bringing them in until the flame catches the paper. Taking a deep drag, Brian doesn’t release Justin’s hands, but instead, leans back against his seat, pulling the slightly older man with him. 

 

Justin climbs onto the seat, clumsily straddling Brian’s thighs. Their smoke drifts out of the jeep door. “Are we going for a ride?” Justin asks, grinding his crotch slowly against Brian’s.

 

Nodding, Brian reaches around Justin, digging his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You shouldn’t accept rides from dirty old men.”

 

“I though I was the dirty old man?” When Brian shrugs in response, Justin says, “Perhaps,” he smiles, slipping his fingers around Brian’s cigarette and flicking both their butts out of the window, “I should do the driving,” he finishes before closing the jeep door.


End file.
